Wearing the old skirt that I’ve known maybe since I was born, her hair grey, a bit ruffled. The shoes with the worn heels that Daddy’s told her so many times to throw out. And I thought to myself – they’re lucky they don’t have to eat the tasteless food she cooks. If anyone in the class knew about her having a lover they’d drop dead on the spot. I don’t mind her being so friendly in the classroom, she probably thinks she’s doing it for my sake, but then why’s she always so stern at home?
Anyway for half the lesson I sat there saying nothing, even though I did have things to say, because I really love history, but I decided not to get too involved with her. But in the second half I got carried away as well and I put my hand up several times but she never turned to me, as if she wanted to punish me for not bringing the book, though I wasn’t the only one.
The lesson was about the period of the Second Aliyah, and Mommy was trying to explain how few and isolated were the Zionists among the Jewish people, and why they thought that the only option they had was immigration to Palestine. And then I put my hand up because I wanted to say something but she wouldn’t let me, she turned to others, even the ones who put their hands up after me. And I started getting really irritated, all the rest were joining in, even Zaki opened his mouth and said something silly, but she looked right through me as if I wasn’t there. What’s going on here? Mommy was talking about other national movements, about the differences and the similarities. Towards the end of the lesson she asked fewer questions and talked more herself. And I looked at the clock, nearly time for the bell, amazing how quickly the time had passed, and I was the only one with my hand up, I was even supporting it with the other hand so it wouldn’t get tired. I was determined not to give up. Hell, what had I done to her?
“Yes, Dafi?” She gave in at last, smiling, looking at her watch. Silence in the classroom. And suddenly the bell rang and there was the usual uproar from the other classrooms, and I waited for the ringing to stop, and they were all getting edgy now, nobody likes carrying on into break time.
And then I started to say something and suddenly I got all tongue-tied, the voice wasn’t mine, it sounded thick and the words came out all mixed up. I’d waited so long to speak I was awfully nervous. And Mommy’s face went white. She was frightened, came closer to me. All eyes in the class were on me. And in the end I managed to speak.
“I don’t understand,” I said, “why you say that they were right, I mean the people of the Second Aliyah, thinking that was the only choice, after so many sufferings how can you say there wasn’t another choice and that was the only choice?”
I could see she didn’t understand.
“Whose sufferings?”
“Our suffering, all of us.”
“In what sense?”
“All this suffering around us … wars … people getting killed … generally … why was that the only choice?”
It seemed nobody understood what I meant. Mommy smiled and dodged the question.
“That is really a philosophical question. We have tried to understand their thinking, but now the bell has rung and we won’t be able to solve that question during break, I’m afraid.”
The others all laughed. I wished I could bury myself. The idiots. What was there to laugh at?
ADAM
Starting to live in real and total isolation. The family falling apart. Coming home for example on the first day of spring and finding the house deserted. Asya isn’t at home, she’s busy, running around and leaving no trace behind her. Her fondness for order has in recent weeks become an obsession. She washes the dishes from lunch, dries them and puts them back in the cupboard. Sometimes to know if she’s eaten lunch I have to look for scraps in the dustbin. Dafi’s traces are clearer, a school bag thrown down in the hall, a maths book on the kitchen table, a blouse and a bra in the study. But she isn’t at home either, lately she’s been out walking the streets. Eating my meal in loneliness, in exile. A combination of lunch and supper. Lately the food has been tasteless, quite insipid. I’ve already told Asya, half in jest and half seriously, that I’m going to employ a cook. I strip off my clothes, at least that’s something you can do in an empty house. I start wandering about naked, going from mirror to mirror, seeing a gloomy man, the hair greying on his chest and arms. Going into the shower and giving myself up, motionless and eyes closed, to the streams of water. Once more I’m coming home from work with my hands as clean as an office worker’s hands.
I come out of the shower without drying myself. Such a blazing hot day. I put on old khaki shorts, walk about barefoot, looking for the morning paper. Going into Dafi’s room and stopping on the threshold in astonishment. The room is dark, the shutters closed, on the bed a girl lying asleep. A friend of Dafi’s, called Tali or Dali or something. And there was I wandering around the house naked, thinking the place was deserted. What’s going on here? What liberty – taking off her sandals and stretching out like that in gym shorts and an open blouse. No longer a young girl. I catch my breath at the sight of those long shapely legs lying on the morning paper. Sleeping so soundly, and I was thinking I’d have to change Dafi’s mattress because she finds it so difficult to sleep at night.
She’s unaware of my presence, I retreat slowly, full of excitement. She’s supposed to be really disturbed. Dafi tells stories about her, stories that I listen to attentively. Those complicated stories that Asya is always eager to hear. Broken homes, families splitting up. At least that’s something we’ve spared Dafi.
I pace restlessly around the hallway, put on a shirt. The sight of those smooth legs laid on the morning paper gives me no peace. Fever rises in me, a choking in my throat. I go back to her, touch her shoulder gently. Her eyes open, blue, reddened by sleep.
“Excuse me” – as if I’m the intruder who must apologize – “may I take the paper?”
But she doesn’t realize she’s lying on the paper, and with a swift movement I lift both her slender legs and pull out the paper, still warm from the touch of her body, show it to her with an awkward smile. She smiles, closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.
I could die. I go out of the room, the paper in my hand, pace about choked with desire, it’s years since I’ve felt anything like this, something turning over inside me, burning inside me, my eyes growing dark. I take off the shirt, crush the paper violently till it turns to a soft dough and collapse on the bed, shaking, wishing I was dead, a sensation of death mixed with desire. I must see her again, catch a glimpse of her. I get up off the bed, put on the shirt, not fastening the buttons, go back into Dafi’s room not knowing what to say. She lies there thinking, her eyes open, I ask her where Dafi is.
“Dafi went out with her mom to buy a skirt and she told me to wait here.”
“When?”
“An hour ago, two hours maybe. What’s the time now?”
“Nearly six. Are you going to wait for her any longer?”
She sits up, her hair straggling over her face, through the open blouse I see her little breasts. She thinks I’m trying to get rid of her.
“Yes, I’ll wait … what else can I do?”
“Are you that tired?”
“No, but I always lie down like this.”
“Would you like something to drink, to eat …?” The inspirations born of desire.
“Yes … a little cold water.”
“Fruit juice?”
“No, just water …”
She speaks slowly and strangely, as if she has difficulty putting words together.
I go out. Passing from the dark room to the dazzling light in the apartment. I’m mad. It’s as if I’m in love with her. Oppressed by sudden desire. A dozen times before she’s walked around the house and I never paid any attention to her. I begin to feel afraid, perhaps I should just leave the house.
I open the fridge and take out a jug of cold water, fill a glass, look for a tray to put the glass on, the glass drops from my hand, the fragments scattering on the kitchen floor. I gather up the pieces with tre
mbling hands. My heart beating fast. Death is upon me. Desire and death. I fill another glass and take it to her.
“Here …” My voice fails me.
She sits up and takes the glass, drinks half of it with her eyes closed, wipes her mouth, gives me the glass. Lies back again, as if she’s sick.
“You’re so kind …”
She fascinates me. I can’t leave her now. Standing over her, trapped by desire, without shame.
“Have you done your homework yet?”
As if I care.
“That’s what I came to see Dafi about …”
“Would you like the light on?”
“What for?”
“What do your parents do?”
“My father isn’t around …”
Without realizing what I’m doing I drink the rest of the water from the glass in my hand, lick the rim of the glass. She watches me in silence, as if my lust shows.
“At first when you woke me I was scared … I thought a big wild animal had come into the room … I never saw such a hairy man as you …”
Her quiet voice and the slow intensity of her speech. This is scandalous. To die at last. I crouch over her, I can’t take it any longer, my eyes going dim, wanting to bite and kiss and weep. Knowing that any moment Asya or Dafi may arrive. She puts out a thin hand to my beard and touches it. My eyes are closed. Just don’t touch. The pain of not touching. Sweat breaks over me, I clench my fists, starting to come sharply, in pain, semen spurting like blood from an opened wound, without touching her, without touching me, to myself and within me without sound or movement, out of control. Death departs. I open my eyes. Her face is troubled. Realizing something has happened to me but not understanding what.
I must get out of here –
I try to smile, going to the window and opening the shutters, letting light into the room, going out in silence, into my room and locking the door, collapsing on the bed, burying my head in the pillow.
Time passes. I hear her get up, start moving about the flat looking for me. She knocks softly on the door, turns the handle, but I don’t move. After a while she leaves the house.
I take off my trousers, the sharp forgotten smell. Like a growing boy. I put on clean underwear, long trousers, go to the window and look out at the reddening sky, at the street, the passing cars. She’s sitting there on the step of the tow truck, small and huddled.
Waiting for Dafi, or for me –
I hesitate, but in the end I get dressed, go downstairs and outside to the truck. She stands up, blushing.
“May I ride with you?”
“Where to?”
“I don’t mind.”
Does she really understand? A little girl, so pretty. I can study her now coolly. She looks up at me in submission, in love. I open the door for her, she climbs in and sits there, staring at me all the time. We begin to drive in silence through the streets of the darkening city, joining a stream of heavy traffic, driving aimlessly through the streets.
“Look, there’s Dafi,” she cries suddenly.
And yes, that’s Dafi standing there on the pavement, looking dejected. I stop. Tali leaps down and embraces her.
DAFI
Of course I can’t let this pass in silence, I must get my own back. I run to the teachers’ room to look for her, picking my way among the teachers drinking tea and knitting, the room full of cigarette smoke. I ftnd her standing in a corner talking to Shwartzy and I go barging straight in, standing between them, interrupting their conversation, clutching at her skirt like a one-year-old.
“Mommy …”
She frowns at me.
“Just a moment, Dafi, wait outside.”
But I pretend not to hear, acting stupid, not leaving her alone.
“Mommy …”
Shwartzy turns his back on me in disgust. Since that business with Baby Face he hasn’t so much as said hello to me in the corridor, he wants to have me expelled.
Mommy draws me aside, pushes me out of the way.
“What’s happened? Why are you bursting in here like this?”
“I just wanted to remind you that at four o’clock today we’re going to meet downtown to buy me a skirt. So you won’t forget again … like you always do …”
She’s only forgotten once, but I haven’t forgotten that.
She goes red with anger, she’d like to thump me, but she must keep her dignity before the other teachers.
“Is that why you came bursting in here?”
“Why not? You’ll be leaving the school soon and we won’t be meeting at home.”
“Why does it have to be today?”
“Because that’s what we arranged … how much longer are you going to put it off? You know I haven’t got a single skirt I can wear … everything’s too small and too old …”
“All right … all right … stop whining.”
“I’m not whining.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me?”
“Why are you being so unpleasant?”
“What do you mean unpleasant?”
I know how to annoy her, how to be nasty.
“What was the question you were asking in class? What exactly did you mean?”
“Nothing.”
But she takes hold of me firmly, pushes me into a corner, she isn’t bothered about the other teachers seeing.
“What suffering were you talking about? What did you mean?”
“There’s no suffering. I was wrong. I thought there was a bit of suffering in this country but I was wrong, everyone’s terribly happy I … just made a misatake …”
She’d like to tear me apart. Her lips tighten.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing …”
The bell rings and I run away.
Of course we didn’t buy a skirt in the end. I just wanted my revenge. Anyway shopping has become a nightmare lately. She takes me to her old women’s shop and the old women choose me something ancient, some shade of grey, old-fashioned length and breadth, and put great pressure on me to buy. And at the last moment when they’ve already put in the pins and marked it with chalk and Mommy’s starting to argue over the price I object and call the whole thing off, taking her to another shop, a trendy shop, picking out of a basket some rag with patches on it that costs twice as much and insisting on it. And then she objects, and there’s no way of knowing which annoys her more, the patches or the price, and so we go to a compromise shop and buy a compromise thing that neither of us likes and in the end it just gets left in the wardrobe.
And that’s the way it was this afternoon too. She didn’t know that really I wasn’t interested in a skirt but in her, I wanted to get revenge for the way she treated me in that lesson, because she kept me asking permission to speak for a quarter of an hour and because she didn’t realize that there was another possibility aside from Zionism.
We met downtown and I was a bit late, not really my fault. Tali suddenly appeared at the house to do some homework with me, I had to persuade her to wait in my room till I came back. Mommy asked me solemnly which shop I’d like to go to, to avoid arguments from the start. And I said softly, “I don’t mind going to the shop you use.” And this was just a trap. But she said, “Really?” and I said, “Yes, I’ve seen a few things in their window that aren’t bad.” And there really were some nice things there. Those old women have opened out a bit lately, they’ve realized that everything doesn’t have to be the same dull colour and not everything in life is symmetrical. And we really did find a nice skirt there and they were all excited. Mommy was very pleased, and then I said, “No.” And there was a great fuss and an hour went by, and the old women were already falling off their feet from so much effort. And we left the shop with both of us nearly in tears and went to another shop, a new one, with red lights in the window like a whorehouse, and there I found something very expensive and said, “This one,” though it was very long and made for a woman not a girl. A
nd then she dug her heels in, and when at last she agreed and took out her wallet I decided I didn’t want it after all, and she wanted to go home but then I started to whine, right there in the street, saying I was the only one in the class who could never go to parties. So we went down to Hadar and spent ages looking for a place to park, she’s always afraid of getting a parking ticket. Then we walked along one of the streets in silence, going in and out of maybe a dozen shops. She stood to one side, grey and glowering, while I went and examined the dresses and skirts, not really looking at anything, just fingering the material like a blind woman. It was evening already, we’d wasted hours for nothing. The streetlamps were coming on. Exhausted and silent, we returned to the car and there was a parking ticket on the windscreen and she went raving mad, nearly in tears, she tore up the ticket first, then picked up the pieces and started running after the traffic cop to argue about the twenty-pound fine. And I stood there feeling miserable and suddenly Daddy came past in the tow truck with Tali sitting beside him. Looks like Tali got bored with waiting and as Daddy was driving downtown he brought her with him. Tali jumped down and Daddy parked the truck, he always parks just wherever he feels like it.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“Arguing with a traffic cop about a parking ticket.”
He smiled.
That calmness of his –
Mommy came back, furious.
“I haven’t the energy to cope with your daughter, you take her and buy her a skirt.”
She climbed into her Fiat and disappeared.
The calming influence that he always has over me. And having Tali with me as well. Both of them looked relaxed and beautiful in the darkening street.
The Lover Page 32